


How It's Done

by SlimReaper



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Better Pick-Up Lines, M/M, Never underestimate the Party Ambulance, Oh the ego, Oral Sex, Pharma needs to get over himself, Shot Down In Flames, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism, dratchet - Freeform, iopele
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two mechs walk into a bar... well really a lot of mechs walk into a bar... okay well some of them were there already... and really it's more of a club than a bar... okay the point is, Drift goes to a bar (or a club), and he's the hottest mech in the place. Pick-up lines ensue. It... yeah, it doesn't go well for them.</p><p>Well, for <em>most</em> of them, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It's Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rayearthmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayearthmagic/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Rayearthmagic!
> 
> (and I wrote this fic summary under the influence of cold medicine, that's my excuse)

“Hey Pharma, isn’t that your ex?”

Pharma raised an elegant eyebrow at the question. “Which one?” he asked with a smirk, glancing around the exclusive club in search of whatever gorgeous new arrival Blurr had spotted. It could be any number of them, really--Pharma was well-known to those in the rightsocial circles, and his pretty wings and talented hands had earned him a well-deserved reputation. He didn’t tend to stick around long enough for any of his lovers to really qualify as an  _ex_  once they parted ways, but he wasn’t going to quibble terms with the most famous racer on Cybertron. He would much rather the room continue to see him sharing a table with such a celebrity.

Blurr gestured toward the door. “The Prime’s medic, what’s-his-name. Didn’t you used to date him?”

Pharma’s wings snapped stiff for an instant before he deliberately relaxed them.  _Of all the bars on all the worlds in all the universe, Ratchet_ had  _to walk into his?_  “Oh, him?” he said in his most dismissive drawl. “Yes, we had a little fling centuries ago.”

“Ratchet and Pharma lived together before he became Chief Medical Officer,” Blaster supplied helpfully, and was Pharma imagining the mean little glint in his optics? “At least, if I remember right.”

“It was hardly worth remembering,” Pharma snapped, his pride smarting anew from the reminder that he hadn’t been chosen for that position when he had  _clearly_ been the best-qualified candidate. He’d been so certain that he was going to get the job, could practically taste the elevated status such a significant promotion would give him, that he had already started making changes in preparation for his new position. He’d found a new flat in the Translucentia Heights, one far more appropriate for the Chief Medical Officer. Then he’d had a few tasteful modifications made to his frame at a discrete but highly-recommended clinic, because the CMO would attend the Prime personally and that meant paparazzi. It wouldn’t do to look anything less than his best when they splashed his photos across vidscreens all over Cybertron, now would it?

And he’d looked at his long-time lover and made the most difficult change of all. As amazing as Ratchet was in the berth--and Primus, he truly had been, was still the best lover Pharma had ever had even now--Pharma would be humiliated to mingle with the elite of the elite with a common ambulance by his side. It had stung more than he’d anticipated to cut Ratchet loose, and seeing Ratchet look  _disappointed_  in Pharma rather than crushed to  _lose_  Pharma had stung even more.

But it was worse by far when the name of the new Chief Medical Officer was announced and Pharma had found himself scrambling to try to find a way to deal with the fact that the very same mech he’d just dumped for not being good enough for him had suddenly been given the ability to destroy Pharma’s medical career with a word. He’d braced himself for humiliation and public censure and the loss of his patients and his position and everything he’d worked to build. He’d even started making plans to relocate to one of the outlying systems, to start over somewhere far enough from Cybertron that perhaps no one would care that he’d been sent packing in disgrace.

But Ratchet hadn’t done it. He’d never said a single word against Pharma or held him back in any way.

And somehow, that was the most painful thing of all.

Pharma snapped his thoughts back to the present and found the entire table staring at him. He relaxed his tense wings once more and gave a deliberately languid smile. “It was a very long time ago,” he said, making sure that nothing in his tone or field betrayed his unexpectedly unpleasant walk down memory lane. “No hard feelings, I’m sure. We’ve both moved on. In fact,” he added, the idea just now occurring to him, “we should invite him over for a drink.”

After all, everyone else at this table was good for Pharma’s reputation in one way or another. Blurr was a superstar, Mirage came from old money, and Blaster was a popular entertainer but more importantly, he had  _connections_. Adding the Prime’s personal medic and very good friend to Pharma’s table at the finest club in Iacon could only help him move up among the rich and powerful.

Yes, this was a good idea, a very good idea. “Blaster, if you would be so kind as to do the honors?” Pharma said, already gesturing at a passing waitermech to bring another round.

The entertainer raised an eyebrow at him for a moment, but then he shrugged and looked back toward Ratchet. The medic had already made his way to the bar and was in the process of placing his order with the bartender when he straightened and turned to scan the room. Pharma had to bite back a scoff as he finally got a good look at his former lover. Ratchet didn’t look like he’d gotten a single upgrade or remodel since they’d parted ways all those centuries ago, and his paint, while presentable enough, was nowhere near the quality of the gleaming, polished mecha surrounding them.  _Same old Ratchet,_  Pharma thought with a mixture of derision and, oddly enough, fondness.

Ratchet caught sight of them at the VIP table then, and Blaster waved. He raised a hand in return and only hesitated for a moment when he finally met Pharma’s optics. Pharma raised his glass to him and smiled invitingly as Blaster sent Pharma’s invitation over the comm link he’d established. Ratchet briefly turned to accept his drink from the bartender before nodding and starting to make his way over.

And maybe it was the engex, but Pharma found himself strangely entranced by the sight. Ratchet moved through the crowds with the same direct self-confidence that had first attracted Pharma so long ago, and mecha gave way before him without a moment’s thought. It wasn’t grace, and it wasn’t arrogance either--he wasn’t sure what word fit, but Ratchet walked with the bold assurance of a mech who had never once doubted his place in the universe.

It made Pharma wonder if he might be able to regain Ratchet’s favor in a more… direct way. After all, he hadn’t heard any rumors that Ratchet had a lover for a very long time, and it would be no hardship at all to revisit a few pleasant memories with the Chief Medical Officer.

Then Ratchet was at the table and Pharma had to force his processor back to the present. “Ratchet,” he said pleasantly. “What a nice surprise to see you here. I do hope you’ll join us for a drink, if you’re not meeting someone?” He made it a question and punctuated it with a smile he was certain Ratchet would remember from their time together.

Ratchet hesitated again and covered it by sipping his drink. “Just here for a drink or two,” he replied, and there might have been a message in that if Pharma chose to take it that way.

He didn’t. “Have a seat, then,” he said, scooting over on the bench. Ratchet grabbed a chair and pulled it over instead of sitting beside Pharma, though. Pharma covered the awkward movement by stretching his wings, trying to make it seem like that was what he had intended all along. “Do you know everyone?”

Ratchet nodded to the others. “Blaster, Mirage, always good to see you,” he said before glancing at Blurr. “And we haven’t been introduced, although of course I know who you are. I’m Ratchet.”

 _Doesn’t even give his title,_  Pharma thought with a mental roll of his optics as Blurr extended a hand to shake Ratchet’s. What goodwas gaining a prestigious position if not to use it to impress others? “Pleasure’s mine,” Blurr said as they clasped hands briefly.

“So, Ratchet, what brings you to my little corner of the world?” Pharma said, drawing Ratchet’s attention back to himself. “I thought you were based out of Harmonex now.”

“Yeah, I was,” Ratchet replied after taking a sip of his drink. “But Optimus will be relocating to Iacon for the foreseeable future, so here I am.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Mirage said, his smooth, cultured voice somehow easily heard above the chatter of the other patrons and the thump of the music. “The assembling of the Grand Convocation, yes?”

Ratchet nodded and leaned closer to Mirage to elaborate on the political situation. Pharma and Blurr exchanged a glance and the racer rolled his optics. He hadn’t come here tonight to talk about politics. “Some mechanisms don’t know how to have a good time,” he murmured to Blurr, and he snorted.

“I can think of much better things to do than talk politics,” Blurr agreed. He tossed back the last of his drink and glanced around for a waitermech, then did an almost comical double-take. “Ooh, like  _that,_ ” he said, optics glued to a mech by the bar. “I’d do him in a second. Dibs on the sexy speedster at the bar, gentlemechs.”

Pharma chuckled as he sought out the mech who had caught Blurr’s attention. When he found him, he couldn’t help but whistle low. Sleek and sexy with dangerous curves lovingly highlighted in red and white, the speedster leaned a casual hip against the bar and sipped his drink with languid, alluring grace. He was just Pharma’s type, too--he was hot as the smelter and he clearly knew it.

And then he looked straight at their table and smiled for just a moment before looking away again, but his expression made it clear that he liked what he saw. “Damn,” Pharma said, his plans to give Ratchet a pity-frag instantly forgotten as his libido woke up with a vengeance. “You certain I can’t talk you out of him?”

Blurr laughed and clapped Pharma on the shoulder. “I like you, Pharma,” he said as he pushed back from the table, “but not that much.”

His laughter caught Blaster’s attention and Pharma started to speak again, but before he could, a bright red racer sidled up to the pretty speedster and propped an elbow on the bar beside him. “Looks like you’re too late,” Pharma commented.

Blurr shrugged like it didn’t matter, but the medic felt the quick jolt of annoyance in his EM field. “He’s not the only sweet piece of aft in this place,” he said, starting to turn around again.

And as such, he didn’t see the speedster rake an assessing glance up and down Fasttrack and then dismiss him with a flick of his fingers. “Oh-ho,” Pharma chuckled as he watched the stunned racer retreat in disgrace. “Looks like this particular sweet piece of aft doesn’t care much for racers. Perhaps he has more refined tastes?”

Pharma started to stand and Blurr beat him to it. By now Mirage and Ratchet had noticed their discussion, but Blurr merely grinned at all of them. “Blaster, my friend, how about you do our friend Pharma here a favor and listen in while I show him how it’s done,” he said, and started off for the bar before Blaster could reply.

Blaster shrugged and focused his attention on the speedster at the bar. Pharma heard Ratchet draw a quick little intake through his vents at the sight of him and had to force himself not to glare. Ratchet was supposed to be fawning over  _him_ , not ogling some random speedster!

And then Blurr was beside the mech and Blaster activated his speakers with a little  _click._  They watched as he stood beside him, waiting to be noticed, and when the speedster finally glanced over at him, Blurr leaned closer. “Hi, gorgeous,” he said, giving him his very best smile. “What’s your name?”

The speedster looked at him for a moment before replying. “Drift.”

“Mmm, Drift,” Blurr purred. “I like it. I’m Blurr.”

“How nice for you,” Drift replied, sipping his drink again and seemingly dismissing Blurr entirely.

Blurr looked momentarily nonplussed, but he recovered well. “How would you like to take a ride on the fastest mech ever sparked, Drift?” he murmured with a teasing little wink.

Drift glanced up at him and raised one eyebrow. “Over before it even starts, hmm? That’s not much of a recommendation, I’m afraid.”

This time Blurr didn’t recover quite so easily. His mouth dropped open and he gaped at him. “That’s--that’s not--I didn’t mean--” he stammered, and Pharma and Blaster burst out laughing. Even Ratchet facepalmed as the ten-time Ibex Cup Champion crashed and burned. Blurr only lasted a few moments longer before he gave up and returned to the table in defeat.

“So that’s how it’s done, is it?” Pharma couldn’t help but tease when the racer threw himself down into his chair again.

“Frag off,” Blurr snapped, flagging down a passing waitermech and ordering another drink--a double this time. “Slagger’s just playing hard to get, that’s all. He’s going to regret that soon enough and I’m not going to be interested when he comes around. He had his chance.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Pharma agreed, but his voice still shook with barely-repressed laughter.

“Fine, then, go see if  _you_ have any luck, then!” Blurr goaded, pride clearly still smarting.

Pharma stood with dignified grace, carefully stretching his wings and making sure to show them off to the fullest. “I believe I will,” he replied, because clearly that sweet speedster had been looking at  _someone_  at their table, and if it wasn’t the famous racer, it had to be him. At first he thought Ratchet might protest--he was waiting for it, actually, but when he didn't, Pharma patted Blaster on the shoulder on his way past and murmured, “Feel free to continue. Perhaps Blurr needs me to show  _him_  a thing or two.” He pretended not to notice Blurr’s rude gesture as he left the table and walked toward the bar.

Drift didn’t wait for his approach, though. He finished his drink and moved to the dance floor, and for a moment, all Pharma could do was watch him move. Sweet Primus, if he hadn’t already been eager to get the speedster in his berth, seeing him dance like this would’ve done it. He reveled in the pounding rhythm, those red and white stripes on his abdominal armor drawing the optic to the sensual sway of his hips in time with the music. He danced as though he didn’t have a care in the universe, a ghost of a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.

A mouth Pharma was abruptly desperate to taste.

He tucked his wings close and got moving again, determined to join this too-pretty speedster before someone else whisked him away. The club really was packed tonight, though, and the song had ended and another one was well underway by the time Pharma finally managed to make it to the dance floor. Even then, he had a pit of a time locating Drift amid the crush of gyrating frames.

Finally he pushed past a trine of Seekers and found himself behind the pretty little speedster. And Blurr might have been crude, but he was right about one thing. Drift did have a sweet aft on him. Pharma couldn’t tear his optics away from the rounded, glossy arch for several moments, imagining just how nice that aft would feel cupped in his sensitive hands.

Suddenly everything shifted and he found himself staring at ridged white pelvic plating instead of that gorgeous aft. “Enjoying the view?”

Pharma didn’t bother protesting. He had already been caught staring, so now he took his time raising his optics to the speedster’s face, fully appreciating all the sights along the way. Those stripes were even more alluring up-close, lovingly tracing the dip and curve of his waist. His smooth white chestplate half-concealed a set of blue and gold biolights that Pharma would just  _bet_ were delightfully sensitive. His shoulders were surprisingly broad for such a sleek and slender build, and when Pharma finally gazed at his face… ahh, he truly was a piece of art, this one.

“Very much so,” Pharma replied smoothly as he finally met Drift’s optics. “But of all your gorgeous curves, I do believe your smile is my favorite.”

Drift didn’t look very impressed. In fact, that smile Pharma had complimented was nowhere in evidence as he dryly replied, “Then I’d think you’d have spent more time looking at my faceplates and less time staring at my aft.”

Ahh, still playing hard to get. But Pharma liked a challenge, so he fluttered his wings in a flirtatious little display--difficult to do on the crowded dance floor, he hoped Drift appreciated the effort--and winked, reaching out to stroke a fingertip along his hip plating before curling his hand around that sexy waist. “I am terribly sorry for such crass behavior. I’m afraid your beauty made me forget my manners. It is unforgivable, but I hope you will allow me to make it up to you by buying you a drink.”

And now the speedster smiled again, and while Pharma might’ve made that comment about his smile as a pick-up line, he had to admit that it was true. Drift had a  _gorgeous_  smile. In fact, he was so distracted by it that he almost didn’t pick up what he said through that beautiful smile.

“Sure. How about you get me a glass of whatever you’d like to have thrown in your face?”

Pharma had to replay that twice to make sure he’d heard it right. Drift gave him the time, smiling pleasantly all the while, and when Pharma blinked and snapped his wings down in shock, the speedster actually laughed at him. “You little--how  _dare_  you? Do you have any idea who I  _am?_ ” Pharma snarled furiously.

“The rude slagger who ogled me and put his hands on me uninvited and thinks a couple clichéd lines will be charming enough to excuse his rudeness?” Drift shot back, still with that infuriating little smile. “I’m not here for your entertainment and I don’t  _care_  who you are. Come see me when you find some manners--or better yet? Don’t.” He brushed past the stunned jet, and by the time Pharma had recovered enough to consider chasing him down and letting him know exactly who he had just lectured like a sparkling, the speedster was gone.

Worse yet, when Pharma turned to look back at the table, they were all but falling over with laughter. Blurr was slumped on Ratchet’s shoulder, Blaster was pounding on the table with both fists, and even Mirage was laughing harder than Pharma had ever seen the dignified, reserved mech laugh before.

But by far the worst of it was seeing Ratchet wiping his optics from laughing so hard.

He was livid by the time he returned to the table, both at the fragging speedster for humiliating him and at his so-called  _friends_  for taking such delight in it. Conveniently forgetting his own laughter at Blurr’s expense, he threw himself down onto the bench again and snapped, “Enough of that! Clearly the jumped-up little slag-sucking berth-toy just gets off on saying no to his betters!”

That killed the laughter, but no one spoke up to agree with him. Ratchet’s field went frosty as Blurr straightened up with a disbelieving expression. “Now, Pharma, there’s no call for that kind of language,” Mirage said, frowning.

“Come on, if I can laugh about it, so can you,” Blurr agreed, and this was only making Pharma seethe more.

“Everyone gets told no sometimes, mech,” Blaster said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Have a drink. You’ll be laughing about it too in an hour.”

Pharma shrugged his hand off and flicked an imperious gesture at the nearest waitermech. “Another round, can’t you see our glasses are empty?” he snapped.

Ratchet put his half-finished drink down and stood. “It’s been good to see you all, but I really did come just for one drink. It’s time I was going.”

Pharma remembered the chill in Ratchet’s field and knew he was about to lose his second choice of entertainment for the evening, too, so he forced a smile onto his faceplates despite how furious he still was. “Sure you have to go so soon?” he asked with a flirtatious little smile that he was certain Ratchet hadn’t forgotten how to interpret.

“Come on, surely you’ve got time for one more!” Blaster added, disappointment writ large on his face and in his field. “I haven’t seen you in forever, Ratch!”

Ratchet smiled but shook his head. “Sorry, Blaster, but Optimus is arriving in a few days and there’s a lot to do to get ready,” he demurred without looking at Pharma, and hearing him refer to the Prime so casually did nothing to improve Pharma’s temper. “But we’ll be here for a good long time and this won’t be the only time I get to come out for a drink or two. I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m certain of it.”

Conversation at the table moved on but Pharma ignored it in favor of watching Ratchet walk away. For a night out, this one wasn’t turning out to be much fun. At least he could enjoy seeing his former lover move one more time before he left.

But he didn’t leave, not right away. Ratchet turned toward the bar instead of heading for the door. Pharma frowned when he saw that the pretentious, snotty little speedster was once more leaning against the bar where they’d first spotted him.

If Ratchet kept going in the same direction, he was going to end up right beside him.

Pharma grabbed Blaster’s arm. “Hey! What?” he asked, almost spilling his new drink as the medic shook him.

“Your speakers,” he said urgently, pointing to the bar where Ratchet had just arrived to stand next to Drift. “Turn them on again. Do it!”

Blaster glanced where Pharma was pointing and did a little double-take, but he hesitated. “I don’t know, Pharma,” he said, starting to shake his head. “You and Blurr both asked me to, but Ratchet didn’t say--”

“I don’t care what he said or didn’t say! He probably put the little slagger up to it just to make us all look bad!” Pharma hissed.

Blaster didn’t look convinced. “That doesn’t sound like R--”

The speedster had just noticed Ratchet and if Blaster didn’t hurry up, they were going to miss it.  _“Do it!”_  Pharma snarled, and Blaster held up both hands in surrender and clicked his speakers back on.

Ratchet was speaking to the bartender when they got audio again. “--ever he wants, as an apology for my friend,” he was saying. Pharma realized exactly what he meant at the same time the others at the table did and he forced his engines not to growl at the sheer  _presumption_  of it. Of all the mecha on Cybertron, he did not need fragging  _Ratchet_  apologizing for him!

Drift gave Ratchet a suspicious look. “And what do you expect for it?” he said, sounding like someone who had gotten too much of the wrong kind of attention tonight and was fed up with it.

Ratchet smiled. “Not a thing. Have a good night,” he replied, and started to walk away.

Pharma wasn’t sure who looked more surprised, the speedster or the others at the table. “Hey, wait a second!” Drift said when it became clear that Ratchet wasn’t just pretending to leave, he really  _was_  leaving. Ratchet paused and turned around. Pharma couldn’t see his face from this angle, but Drift gave him a little smile. “Can we start over? Hi there. I’m Drift.”

Ratchet stepped back over to the bar and offered his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Drift. I’m Ratchet.”  _Still doesn’t even give his rank and title!_  Pharma thought exasperatedly, but Drift was speaking again.

“This drink would taste better if you stuck around and had one with me, Ratchet,” Drift said, still holding Ratchet’s hand as he waved the bartender over.

“Am I seeing things right now? We went down in flames and  _he’s_  getting somewhere?” Blurr said in disbelief.

“He hasn’t gotten anything more than his name,” Pharma pointed out waspishly.

“Yet,” Blaster said, not bothering to hide his own grin as Ratchet leaned against the bar, a little closer to Drift than could be considered casual.

“I was on my way out, but I could be persuaded to stay a little longer,” Ratchet replied warmly, and Pharma knew that tone. He knew the expression in his optics that went with that tone, and he had to freeze the actuators on his wings to keep them from giving away exactly how infuriated he was to hear that tone being used on that egotistical, conceited little speedster.

And apparently Drift found his tone as charming and sexy as Pharma did-- _once_   _had,_  as he once had--because he shifted a little closer to Ratchet and gave him a slow glance up and down. His expression made it clear that he liked what he saw. “New to Iacon?”

“More like back in Iacon,” Ratchet said, and if Pharma wasn’t very much mistaken, Drift still had hold of his hand. “Relocating from Harmonex. How about you, are you a local? Is this your usual hangout?”

Drift shook his head and yes, he  _was_  still holding Ratchet’s hand. Not just holding it, he was stroking his fingers, playing lightly with them, and Pharma could just imagine how good that felt on Ratchet’s fingers. Did Drift know about medic’s hands or was it a coincidence? “I’ve been gone a while myself,” he was telling Ratchet. He looked around the club and laughed softly. “And places like this were never much my style, to tell you the truth.”

“Same here, honestly,” Ratchet admitted, which Pharma knew to be true. His lack of appreciation for the finer things was one of the reasons he’d cut Ratchet loose. “But it was close to my hotel. So what is your style, Drift?”

“And here it comes,” Blaster murmured.

Pharma didn’t have a chance to ask for clarification because Drift leaned forward, and there was nothing casual about the way he moved right into Ratchet’s field range. “How about you take me out of here and let me show you?” he purred, his meaning unmistakable.

Blurr and Pharma’s jaws dropped as one. “You have got to be fragging  _kidding_  me,” Blurr exclaimed.

“Now that’s how it’s done,” Mirage murmured, hiding a little smile behind his glass, and he didn’t stop smiling even when Pharma glared at him.

“No, that’s a load of slag,” Pharma said hotly, and when the others turned their attention away from watching Drift and Ratchet abandon their untouched drinks and make for the door to stare at him, he slammed his hand on the table. “It’s a load of  _slag!_  Clearly he said something to him before you got your speaker on, Blaster, or, or maybe they were speaking hand--there’s no  _way_  someone like that just got picked up by someone like Ratchet!”

“Or maybe he’s just smoother than you and Blurr combined,” Blaster suggested.

“And you seemed to think Ratchet was pretty hot stuff a little while ago,” Blurr said with a grin.

That was not worthy of a response and Pharma didn’t give it one. “We’ve been had,” he growled as he stood up. “He’s mocking us and I’m going to call him on it. This is going too far.”

“Pharma, calm down, don’t be a sore loser,” Blurr said, which was rich coming from a mech who had never lost a race in his life. Pharma ignored him and took off through the crowd, determined to expose Ratchet for the liar he was.

They’d already left the club by the time Pharma forced his way through the crowd and reached the exit, so he transformed and took to the air in hopes of spotting them. After all, a red and white speedster and an ambulance should be easy enough to pick out. After only a few moments, he did, catching a glimpse of them as they pulled off the main road and into the covered drive of the most expensive hotel in Iacon.

 _Huh. Looks like he’s found a taste for some of the finer things after all_ , Pharma thought as he hovered.

Actually, no. Ratchet would never have booked a room here. He would’ve found the nearest hospital and recharged in one of the spare on-call physician berths like a common trainee nursebot. No, someone else had made this reservation for him, someone important enough that Ratchet would go along instead of protesting the waste of money.

Pharma did a quick records search for the hotel’s comm code and dialed it. “Yes, Senior Medical Officer Pharma here,” he said smoothly when the hotel’s operator answered. “The Prime informed me that our Chief Medical Officer arrived today, but I’m afraid he forgot to give me his suite number so I could send over the records he requested. If you would be so kind--?” The operator obliged, and Pharma was effusive in his thanks before he disconnected.

 _You see, Ratchet,_ that’s  _how you use your rank to get what you want._

Then he soared higher until he had a good view of the windows of Ratchet’s suite--not the penthouse, which his position warranted, but still near the very top of the hotel. He hovered far enough away that his lights wouldn’t be immediately noticeable to anyone looking out and zoomed his optics to maximum, getting a nice close shot of the door.

And then he waited to see Ratchet enter alone and give this whole farce away.

He had almost given up, thinking maybe they had decided to have a drink in the hotel bar instead or even that the operator had given him incorrect information, when the door finally burst open and Ratchet and Drift stumbled through in a tangled mess of red-and-white armor plating. Pharma nearly fell out of the air in shock at the up-close-and-personal view of them kissing passionately, hands sliding all over each other.

That wasn’t… they weren’t… no, no, this  _wasn’t happening_ , it  _couldn’t_  be happening! Maybe, maybe Blaster had tipped Ratchet off that Pharma was following them, so they were keeping up the charade in hopes that he would get tired of it and fly away? Yes, he decided an instant later, that had to be it--they were pretending, of course they were, and none of this was real.

But it sure as frag  _looked_  real. The door swung shut behind them and Ratchet spun and pinned the speedster against it, never once breaking the kiss. Drift responded by hooking a leg over his hip, and Ratchet wrapped his hands around his narrow waist and pulled him up so he could wrap both curvy thighs around him. Ratchet finally pulled away from Drift’s lips to kiss and bite at his throat instead, his enthusiasm unmistakable. There was nothing fake about Drift’s arousal, either. His helm dropped back against the door, mouth open, armor flared to release maximum heat, showing all the secondary signs of arousal that no physician could miss even from this distance.

And then Drift grabbed one of Ratchet’s hands and sucked two fingers into his mouth.

Oh Primus, he  _did_  know about medic hands, and if Ratchet’s reaction was anything to go by, he was making the most of that knowledge. Ratchet’s entire frame shuddered and Drift smiled around his fingers, smug as the pit, sexy as sin. Ratchet’s free hand slid down to his hip and he rocked forward, slowly at first, then picking up the pace. Pharma couldn't look away as Ratchet fragged him hard and fast right there against the door like he couldn't bear to wait even long enough to get him to his berth. It didn’t take long for Drift to lose his concentration and suddenly he arched hard, mouth open in a cry Pharma couldn’t hear, and he couldn’t deny what he was seeing any longer.

If they were faking this, they were far more dedicated to the ruse than he was to catching them out on it.

He had a glimpse of Ratchet grabbing Drift beneath his sweet aft and lifting him effortlessly up, hooking his thighs over his shoulders and burying his face between them as Drift gasped and braced a hand against the ceiling and the other on Ratchet’s helm for balance.

And then Pharma spun in midair and flew away and left them to it.

.*.*.

By the time Ratchet finally carried Drift to the enormous berth, he’d already wrung three overloads out of him and the speedster felt almost delirious from the speed with which he’d done it.

And then Ratchet had stroked and kissed him until his spike pressurized once more before riding him to his own shuddering, shouting climax. Drift followed mere moments later, the electrical discharge of their overloads flashing in the darkness, sending their biolights blazing in a light show he thought he would never tire of seeing.

Ratchet finally fell onto the berth beside him and Drift somehow managed to pull him close despite feeling like he might never fully regain the ability to move again. “Damn, Ratchet,” he panted over the roar of their fans. “I think… I think that was the best yet.”

He chuckled against Drift’s shoulder. “I was inspired,” he replied in a voice still heavily laced with static.

“You can say that again,” Drift agreed fervently. His frame still tingled with little flashes of aftershocks, each one sending a new jolt of pleasure through his sensornet.

“I was inspired,” Ratchet said, and Drift rolled his optics.

“Smart-aft,” he said, but he was chuckling and that took all the sting out of it. “You know, when you suggested role-playing, I’d have agreed much faster if you’d let me know  _that_  was waiting at the end of it. We can do this again anytime you want, but fair warning. Next time I’m going to make  _you_  scream.”

Ratchet laughed softly and kissed his conjunx’s shoulder armor. “Deal.”


End file.
